


Guns And Horses

by moonix



Series: TFC High School AU [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (kind of), Again, Alternate Universe - High School, Andrew is a blanket monster, Eden’s twilight, M/M, Pining, Squatting, accidental fake boyfriends, at last! part two is here, background Andrew/Roland, lots of pining, teenage runaways, twinyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: A year after they run away together, Andrew and Neil finally find themselves in Columbia where they make a temporary home, get jobs, and meet Aaron.





	1. I know you've been burned by every fire

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote a part two for this - I'll upload the other chapters today or tomorrow, I have a cold and editing is a bit slow but I'm doing it! Part three is in the works and part four is planned, I am fairly sure you won't have to wait a year for those again... haha... ha.. hmm :')
> 
> Title and chapter titles from the Ellie Goulding song Guns & Horses.
> 
> Many thanks to Alex (petalplate) for helpful suggestions and nitpicking! I'm still conflicted over em and en dashes so please kindly ignore those for now :D
> 
> Warnings for this part include: past self-harm, coping with self-harm urges, but no on-screen self-harm depicted. Andrew has an ill-advised thing with Roland while he’s not quite 18 yet and Roland is 21. Panic attacks. References to past sexual abuse (Andrew) and ongoing physical abuse and neglect (Aaron). Mentions of homophobia. Underage drinking. If there's anything I missed, please let me know.

Andrew taps his finger against the screen of his phone.

It's an old flip phone, chipped at the edges, the buttons well-worn. Neil got it for him at a cheap second-hand electronics store, and it's an odd, clumsy weight in his palm, too heavy for the empty contacts list. There are only two numbers he needs – Neil's and Aaron's – and they're both burned into his brain alongside a dead third that he's never going to call again. He doesn't even know if Cass still has the same number as when he left California. It's probably better this way.

The door to the bathroom clicks open and Neil steps out, steam from the shower curling off his flushed neck. His hair is a muddy brown, freshly dyed, and his eyes are the sort of brackish, greenish brown that no one ever looks at twice. There's a little patch of darkened skin on his throat where he didn't wipe a smudge of dye off in time.

“Want me to do yours?” he says, giving his hair a last scrub with a stained towel before tossing it aside. He holds up another packet of hair dye; a dark blond again, not too far from Andrew's original hair colour but more muted; less recognisable. Andrew refused to go much darker, remembering too well an incident with black dye when he was thirteen and stupid and thought he'd make his hair match his clothes and his mood. The lighter roots are growing out again though and his only other choice is to wear Neil's ugly beanie hat in the late summer heat.

“Okay,” Andrew says, rolling off the bed and trying not to sound like it's a big deal.

It is a big deal. He hasn't let Neil dye his hair since the first night they ran away together, over a year ago.

He stalls by stuffing his phone and his few remaining belongings into his backpack. Andrew is used to not having much, having spent most of his life bouncing between foster homes. After two identity changes and one paranoid impromptu escape in a hotwired car in the middle of the night, there is barely anything left of what he originally took with him from California. They stayed in Millport long enough that they had to burn two entire boxes of stuff they couldn’t take with them and didn’t want to leave behind, but they’ve been continuously on the road for the past two months.

Andrew's fingers brush the tattered remains of Aaron's first letter, tucked away safely inside a folded road map. He drops the backpack on the floor and walks past Neil into the small bathroom, which is still damp and filmy after two showers.

“Here,” Neil says, wrapping the dye-stained towel around Andrew's shoulders. Andrew sits on the closed lid of the toilet and runs a hand through his own still-wet hair, watching as Neil lines the contents of the box up on the edge of the sink and pulls on the plastic gloves.

“Real or fake?” Andrew asks him. When Neil looks up, Andrew catches his chin between two fingers and looks at his eyes. He can see the tell-tale bulge of the contacts even before Neil gathers enough spit to reply.

The only colour he's eschewed so far is blue.

Still. Neil has been so very careful not to let Andrew see. He keeps his contacts under his pillow next to his gun, and the few times he wasn't quick enough to put them in before Andrew saw, it was always too dark to make out the colour.

It stings a bit, if Andrew's honest.

They've been joined at the hip for over a year now. Andrew has seen the reddish roots of Neil's hair before he had a chance to dye over them. They've shared sleeping space and cigarettes and food. They’ve stood guard for each other while pissing behind bushes and they’ve done each other's dirty laundry at three in the morning in seedy laundromats. Andrew once talked Neil down from a panic attack after seeing a dead pig at the market, and Neil held Andrew's head while he vomited up half a bottle of cheap, ill-advised whisky and some greasy takeaway food in a filthy gas station bathroom on the Californian border. They’ve each seen some of each other’s scars. Last month Andrew accidentally walked in on Neil jerking off in the shower – he's pretty sure Neil didn't hear him and Andrew only stayed long enough to make an educated guess about the laboured breathing and wet rhythmic sounds behind the stained old shower curtain, but still.

The point is that in all the time of living almost literally in each other's pockets, Neil still doesn't trust him with this minor thing.

“Sorry,” Neil mumbles, correctly interpreting the bitterness in Andrew's expression. His eyes dart down and away.

“Can't be any uglier than this one,” Andrew says dismissively. Neil smiles a bit, though it looks like he's trying to fit it around the blade of a knife. Then he taps Andrew's upper arm where the ratty towel doesn't quite cover his sleeve.

“Sure you don't want to take that off?”

Andrew shakes his head. He doesn't feel like exposing himself today, and Neil, who still tries to avoid getting changed around Andrew whenever he can, accepts this without comment.

Neil's hands working the dye through Andrew's hair aren't gentle or hesitant, but Andrew still has to close his eyes and hold his breath at the intense attention focused on him. Neil hums a little, a low, disjointed sound, and his pretty voice trickles through Andrew like spilled dye, colouring his insides bright pink.

“My mom used to do this for me,” Neil says out of the blue. He almost never talks about his mom and he seems to realise his slip at the same time, digging his teeth into his lower lip as if to punish himself for it.

“Cass always let me steal her cigarettes,” Andrew tells him in exchange, tipping the scales back into balance. It's like this between them – awkward truths traded for bulky honesty, a scar exposed for a scar. Neil nods gratefully, acknowledging the symmetry of two tainted good memories given without prompting.

“Okay, now we wait,” he murmurs and pulls his hands away from Andrew's head.

It feels cold without their warmth on his scalp.

~

Dark clouds wander in on the wind just as they leave the motel. Neil squints at the sky and hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder. There’s a Greyhound station nearby, the last leg of their journey west. By tonight they’ll be in Columbia.

He slants a look at Andrew as they walk. He’s been even quieter than usual the last couple of days, and not for the first time Neil wonders if he’s made a mistake in keeping Andrew from his brother for so long, but he didn’t want to risk it yet. Neil turned eighteen at the beginning of the year, but Andrew still has a little over two months to go before his birthday. According to their IDs, they’re both nineteen, though Neil had to find someone new to get them forged because his mother’s old contact hadn’t been there anymore, and he doesn’t know how well these ones would hold up to an official inspection.

They changed both of their names while staying in Millport, but he’s been reluctant to let go of Neil Josten for good. For now he’s officially Noel Miller and Andrew’s gone back to Andrew Doe, because he can’t really show up on his family’s doorstep with a different name, no matter how much Neil’s instincts are screaming in the back of his mind.

“No one’s following us, right?” Neil checks again. Andrew makes a show of turning around and walking backwards, surveying the street behind them.

“Nope,” he says, spinning back around.

Neil is aware that Andrew’s becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of information Neil’s willing to divulge about his situation. Neil’s been as honest with him as he could, and he’s told Andrew multiple times that it’s safer if he doesn’t know. Still. It’s turning into an issue, and Neil is starting to worry if he’s come to rely on Andrew too much.

It’s part of the reason why they’re finally going to Columbia. If Andrew’s family will have him, Neil can sever ties and move on by himself. He’s done it before, after his mother’s death; he can do it again. He hopes.

His stomach twists painfully at the thought and he forces himself to focus on the more immediate steps, pulling his cap deeper into his face even though the clouds have swallowed up every last drop of sunlight like parched mouths.

“Come on, it’s going to start raining soon,” Neil says. “Let’s move a bit faster.”

The clouds burst just before they reach the station. Neil is drenched within seconds, hair plastered to his head and feet squelching around in his shoes. They fight their way through the wind and press into the crowded station that already smells like damp fabric and mildew and the weak coffee from the decrepit little store crammed into the corner.

Neil buys their tickets while Andrew gets them coffee and sandwiches. The wind howls and the rain splatters noisily against the windows, completely drowning out the loudspeaker announcements. Andrew and Neil huddle against the far wall, eyes on the arrivals display and the crowd around them, and sip the lukewarm coffee from plastic cups that smell like they’ve been stored in a damp basement for a long time.

The storm doesn’t let up. Neil sinks into a seat at the back of the bus, soaked all over again just from the short walk over, and mourns the coffee despite how shitty it was. Andrew hands him a granola bar and unwraps a Snickers, chewing it slowly piece by piece as they watch the rain eclipse the dirty road outside.

“I’ve always found it really strange to be on the road when it’s raining,” Neil murmurs, quiet enough so only Andrew will hear. “Feels like you’re cut off from the outside world. Like a lifeboat, drifting.”

“What are you, a fucking poet?” Andrew grunts, crumpling up the wrapper of his chocolate bar in his fist.

“Just making conversation,” Neil grins.

“I’ll tell you where you can shove your conversation,” Andrew mutters and shifts around on his seat. He toes off his sneakers and pulls his feet up, sighs when that isn’t any more comfortable than before, crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes anyway.

Neil surreptitiously watches him settle into sleep. It’s weird – Andrew has horrible insomnia at night, but he can nap anywhere during the day, soothed by the bustle and noise of people going about their business around him. Maybe it’s because someone would have a hard time sneaking up on him in the middle of a crowd, though Neil has been a first-hand victim to Andrew’s whip-sharp reflexes when he’s startled awake and doubts that anyone could sneak up on him, anyway. Especially now that he has half of Neil’s arsenal of knives tucked inside various parts of his clothes within easy reach. Neil is aware that handing knives to someone with a history of self-harm was probably one of his dumber ideas, but Andrew promised he wouldn’t use them on himself in exchange for Neil giving them to him.

With Andrew and his knives guarding the aisle seat like a sleeping dragon, Neil feels safe enough to relax as well. He lets his eyes droop and watches the thick rivulets of rain on the window until he drifts off into a light doze.

~

The sun is setting when they arrive in Columbia.

Andrew gets off the bus and stretches until his spine cracks. The sky is a washed-out lilac, still stained blue at the edges, a few thin strips of clouds here and there like Band-Aids. Andrew hasn’t needed any for his arms in a while now, but he knows Neil still carries a box around with him everywhere they go, just in case the urge comes back. He’s made Andrew promise to tell him if that happens. Pre-emptively sticking colourful children’s plasters all over his arms doesn’t really do much in terms of curbing the impulse to cut, but – but. Andrew thinks of Neil’s careful fingers peeling the paper off the Band-Aids, tongue sticking out as he covers Andrew’s scars with them, one by one up to his elbow… Maybe they do help, in a weird way. If only by delaying the inevitable until it isn’t quite so inevitable anymore.

Neil did a lot of research on the library computers before they left for Columbia. There’s a whole block of houses on the outskirts of town that got built in the nineties but were abandoned before anyone ever moved in. It’s a desolate neighbourhood now, surrounded by warehouses and shrubbery. According to Neil, there’s a good chance the houses will be empty of squatters after the police cracked down hard on them earlier this year. A perfect hideout for two teenage runaways.

“Dinner first?” Neil says. The summer heat has tickled even more freckles to the surface of his olive skin. Andrew mostly just gets sunburnt, and months on the road has made his skin look worse than ever before. He scratches at the heat rash on the insides of his elbows and follows Neil into an air-conditioned diner called Sweetie’s. The walls are painted pearly pink and the furniture looks like they ordered it straight from the eighties. There’s enough of a bustle that the two of them won’t draw too much attention, and they slide into a booth at the back and stow their bags under the bench. Neil talks loudly about all the sights he wants to see while they’re in Columbia, just in case someone gets curious anyway, and Andrew gets a little lost in the ice-cream menu.

Neil orders a burger and rolls his eyes when Andrew goes for a peanut butter chocolate sundae instead. Andrew’s aware that he’s gained weight since they left thanks to all the junk food and irregular meals and the fact that he’s had to reduce his smoking habit lately because cigarettes are expensive, but he can’t really bring himself to care enough to order a salad instead.

It’s not like it makes a difference in whether or not he has a chance with Neil. The last year has certainly disabused him of that notion for good. It’s not just him – Neil’s never shown interest in _anyone_ , not even superficially. They’ve grown closer than Andrew ever thought possible, but if anything, Neil treats him more like a brother.

And isn’t that ironic.

Silences are still comfortable between them. Some days, words are a precious currency, and he and Neil only exchange the bare bones of necessary information. Other times they stay up talking late into the night, about anything and everything – school, whatever’s on TV if they’re staying in a motel, the possibility of life in space. Today they eat without speaking, but Neil bumps his foot against Andrew’s under the table and leaves it there like a lifeline.

Things could be worse. Things have been worse.

Neil settles the bill and Andrew grabs a few of the complimentary lollipops on the counter as they leave. They’re probably for kids, but money’s always tight and Andrew needs _something_ to occupy his mouth at night when he can’t sleep.

He looks at Neil and his treacherous face heats up as his brain starts cataloguing all the things he could be putting in his mouth besides lollipops and cigarettes.

“I think we should try and get jobs,” Neil says as they wander in the direction of the empty estate. It’s a long walk, but their legs are grateful for the exercise after being cooped up on a bus for so long. “There might be something we can do kind of unofficially.”

“We managed fine so far,” Andrew points out.

“Yeah, but if we’re staying here for a while we can’t keep stealing stuff. People might start remembering us.”

“You said you’d stashed some money somewhere.”

Neil looks troubled and chews on his bottom lip.

“It’s too risky to get it,” he says, lowering his voice even though the street is deserted. “And we might need it for new IDs. I’d rather not spend it if we can help it.”

It’s the most either of them has said about what will happen after this. All they’ve been planning for is when and how to get to Columbia, how to approach Aaron, where to stay. Andrew hasn’t let himself think about it, because if he thinks about it he’s going to hope, and Neil clearly doesn’t intend to stay in Columbia for good.

The idea that Andrew might have to decide between having a real family and staying with Neil makes his chest hurt.

Fuck. He’s really craving a cigarette. Craving something is always an interesting change from the usual apathy and he looks down at his shaking hands, surprised at the strength of the reaction.

“Andrew?”

They’ve stopped walking. Andrew didn’t notice.

“Are you okay?” Neil asks. “You spaced out again.”

“Fine,” Andrew says and nudges his feet back into motion. Neil hurries to catch up, and then they find the first boarded-up house, covered in graffiti and snarled in weeds.

They walk up and down the street a few times until Neil finally decides on a house. Andrew pries the boards away from the back door, sweating and grunting, splinters wedging themselves into his bare hands. Neil’s taught him how to pick locks, but he’s still better at it than Andrew and makes quick work of the door. They stack the boards back over the gap so it won’t be so visible from outside and Neil gets his torch out so they can see their new home.

They’re standing in a spacious kitchen. Dust covers the surfaces, the sink is stained with rust and a few empty bottles roll away from Andrew’s feet. Someone’s left behind a camping table and a gas cooker that still looks functional but needs more gas.

“Not bad,” Neil says. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while. No structural damage as far as I can see either.”

They scope out the rest of the house, but it’s just empty rooms. There’s no electricity, unsurprisingly, but when they turn on the tap it gushes a stream of rusty brown water that starts to clear after a while.

“Lucky,” Neil remarks. “We can actually shower.”

They settle down in one of the upstairs bedrooms – there’s a tree right outside the window and a big enough gap in the boards that they could climb through if there’s trouble. Neil sits in their makeshift nest and yawns.

“We can get some stuff tomorrow,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “Maybe some camping gear, that’s probably less suspicious than lugging a mattress out here.”

“Probably,” Andrew agrees dryly. Neil hiccups a tiny laugh and curls up into a ball, eyes already closed.

“Contacts,” Andrew reminds him. Neil merely hums and curls up tighter. Fine, Andrew thinks. If he wants his eyes to be sore as fuck tomorrow, so be it.

He lies down next to Neil with his head on his bag and watches Neil’s face, slack and relaxed as he drifts off. Andrew’s jacket barely provides any padding against the hard floor and the unfamiliar surroundings would make it difficult for him to sleep even if he was lying in the most comfortable bed. He switches off their torch, plunging them into darkness, and listens to Neil’s steady breathing instead.


	2. Door wide open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting settled.

“Cosy,” is Neil’s verdict after they’ve spent the better part of a day sprucing up their new home. They’ve cleaned the kitchen and bought some camping gear, and Neil cleared the cobwebs from their bedroom while Andrew made himself scarce. Needless to say, Neil’s already teased him relentlessly about being scared of a few harmless spiders. After two shopping trips, they now have a set of folding chairs, some gas lamps, a small selection of kitchen utensils, and two sleeping mats that are marginally more comfortable than the floor. Andrew found them a few extra towels and two blankets while Neil stuffed as much food down the front of his oversized hoodie as he could get away with.

The items strewn across the kitchen table are more than Neil ever bothered with while squatting on his own, but he has to admit it has its perks.

One of those perks is that they can now make coffee. They grab two mugs and sit on the back porch, shielded from view by the overgrown hedges and the windowless warehouse wall sprouting just beyond the backyard, and share a cigarette while the rain pours down all around their little alcove.

Andrew hands him the cigarette, shivers and pulls the blanket over his shoulders. His hair is still wet, though they both changed into dry clothes after they got home from their last shopping trip. The dark blond dye makes it look like sunburnt grass, pressed flat by the force of an unexpected cloudburst.

Neil takes a drag and sips at his coffee. It tastes bitter and slightly burnt, but it feels good after all the work they did.

“So,” he says into the dripping noise of the rain, “Aaron.”

Andrew holds his hand out for the cigarette, but Neil refuses to give it back until he has an answer.

“Tomorrow,” Andrew grinds out, snapping his fingers impatiently. Neil takes one more drag and gives it back, letting the smoke out slowly until there’s no more air left in his lungs.

Andrew’s stomach growls audibly.

“What should we have for dinner?” Neil asks. “We have beef, vegetables, curry or prawns.”

He grins and Andrew snorts. They’re both aware that those are all ramen noodle flavours, and their only other option tonight is a squashed packet of chips Neil found in his duffle or a couple of protein bars.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow they will get some proper food, so that they can celebrate Andrew meeting his brother at last, and his mom, and maybe his cousin and whoever else there is. Tomorrow, Neil will go exploring and find them a job somewhere, and they can stay here for a month or two until Andrew is settled and Neil finds the strength to move on without him.

They play cards before bed, with a cheap, threadbare set that Andrew picked up at a gas station last year. The rain continues well into the night, a harsh lullaby sung to the trees, and Neil is glad they pushed their sleeping mats together under the window because he feels safer having Andrew within arm’s reach.

He’s felt both safer and more paranoid while on the road with Andrew. His father’s men are probably still looking for a woman and her son, not two scruffy homeless kids attached at the hip, and he and Andrew have sparred enough times that Neil knows Andrew is a decent fighter. He’s just… cautious. And being responsible for another human being, someone who has nothing to do with Neil’s little family of horrors, is terrifying.

He drifts off into a fitful sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning. When he wakes, the sun is blinking sleepily through the cracks in the boards and the rain has stopped. Andrew is still asleep, so Neil leaves him be and makes use of the nice morning to go for a run through the warehouse district. He takes a shower when he gets back – the water is cold, of course, but it’s still better than being sweaty and smelly, and it’s warm enough outside that he’s not at risk of giving himself pneumonia. Then he makes breakfast out of stale crackers and a wizened apple he finds in his bag, gets some coffee going and sits outside on the back porch as he eats and waits for Andrew to get up.

Andrew doesn’t get up.

Neil checks his watch. It’s past eleven, even a sleepy Andrew should have stirred by now, tempted awake by the smell of coffee. Neil pours him a cup and goes upstairs, but Andrew is still buried in the blankets – both of their blankets, Neil notes, amused.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Neil calls out, setting the coffee down on the floor next to Andrew’s head. “Rise and shine.”

Andrew barely stirs. A hand sneaks out under the blanket just to give him the finger before disappearing again.

“Wow, okay,” Neil says, “fuck you too. I’ll just take that coffee downstairs with me again…”

The hand shoots back out, nearly knocking over the tin cup. It curls around the handle and pulls it underneath the blanket, and Neil grins at the sight.

“Alright, suit yourself. I’m going out.”

The blanket quivers a little but Andrew still refuses to show himself, so Neil tells him about his plan to get groceries and keep an eye out for possible employment and leaves him be.

~

Andrew spends five days in bed.

He doesn’t even know why. He’s just… tired. Even getting up to go to the bathroom takes an inordinate amount of energy, which is ironic considering they’ve done nothing but move around for the past few months. His body just refuses to work properly. His stomach is crawling with hunger, but he has no appetite and barely eats any of the things Neil brings him. He can tell that Neil is starting to grow anxious, and he’s not surprised, really – who’d want to be weighed down by a useless blob who can’t get out of bed when they’re literally on the run?

“Maybe you should go,” Andrew says dully on the sixth day of his self-imposed blanket exile. Neil is sitting cross-legged on the sleeping mat beside him, a plate of fruit between them and a newspaper in his lap. He’s flicking through the Help Wanted ads, absent fingers picking grapes from their stems.

“Here, how about this: Eden’s Twilight night club is looking for kitchen aides, pay in cash. We’d have to do night shifts, but maybe they’d hire both of us, and if it’s just work in the kitchen it should be easy to keep a low profile.”

“Neil,” Andrew croaks.

“Depends how studious they are with their paperwork I guess,” Neil hums, circling the ad with a red marker. “I suppose it’s worth a try. We can say we’re saving up for college or something.”

Andrew drags himself up into a slouched sitting position. He’s wearing a t-shirt because he got too warm last night, and his gaze falls to the scars on his arms. There are three thin cuts he made two days ago when the numbness got too much. He’s been picking at the scabs, making them bleed again every time they heal over. He didn’t use Neil’s knives for them – he still has a razorblade tucked inside the lining of his backpack for that, because he made a promise and Andrew doesn’t break promises easily.

Neil catches him looking and says, “Hey.”

Andrew laboriously pries his eyes away and looks at Neil instead.

“I got some Band-Aids,” Neil says quietly. “Do you want them?”

Andrew swallows against the furry dryness in his mouth and nods. Neil puts the newspaper and marker away and rummages in his bag, coming up with a blue cardboard box.

“These were the only ones they had,” he says apologetically, tapping the cartoon shark on the box. He lays the Band-Aids out on the mat between them. They have different types of sharks depending on their size, and Andrew holds out his arm and lets Neil cover the cuts with a hammerhead, a great white, and a tiger shark.

“The world’s smallest known shark is only about seven inches long,” Andrew says.

“Oh yeah? That’s tiny,” Neil says, grabbing his marker. “Can I?”

Andrew nods, and Neil starts drawing teeth over Andrew’s older scars. Rows and rows of big, sharp, serrated teeth.

“The dwarf lanternshark, Etmopterus perryi,” Andrew recites from memory, “is a species of dogfish shark that lives in the Caribbean, specifically in the continental slopes off the coasts of Colombia and Venezuela. Some of its ventral markings are bioluminescent. They sometimes end up as bycatch but have no economic value.”

“Is that why they’re called lanternsharks? Because they glow in the dark?” Neil asks.

“I guess,” Andrew says. He watches as Neil turns his arm into the weaponised maw of a shark and tries to ignore the faintly sour smell of his shirt. Neil went out and took care of their laundry last night, but Andrew really needs to shower before he changes into clean clothes.

He cracks open his weary mouth one more time as Neil puts the finishing touches on his toothy masterpiece.

“Can you come with me,” Andrew mutters and Neil looks up.

“To meet your brother?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. Neil bites his lip and taps the marker against his knee.

“Are you sure you want me there?”

Andrew shrugs and nods and plucks a grape from the bunch just for something to do. He picks at the green skin with his teeth, peeling it off scrap by tiny scrap.

“Well, alright,” Neil says. “I’ll go with you if you come to that night club with me.”

“Deal,” Andrew croaks.

Neil quirks a tiny smile at him and offers his little finger. Ever since Andrew once sarcastically asked him if he wanted a pinkie promise, Neil has been insisting on it. Andrew rolls his eyes but hooks his finger around Neil’s anyway.

“There,” Neil says, “now go take a shower. I got some hot chocolate mix, but you have to come downstairs for it.”

Damn him, Andrew thinks. Damn him for knowing Andrew so well, and damn him for sticking around.

~

Eden’s Twilight is big, loud and anonymous.

It swallows them up like a deep-sea creature. They pretend to be college students, sign a set of shoddy contracts, and without further ado they find themselves in a dingy corner of the kitchen washing fingerprints and lipstick off a never-ending procession of glasses for a few hours every night. The dishwasher takes ages and the kitchen is too cramped for a second one, so they do it all by hand, scrubbing and rinsing until the hot soapy water makes their fingers red and raw despite the gloves.

Andrew still hasn’t made any attempt to go and meet his family. Neil doesn’t push. They go to work, they share a cigarette on their break, they go home, they sleep. Occasionally they stay at the club after their shift so Neil can dance and Andrew can drink, because the bartenders all pretend not to know that they’re under twenty-one, and lately one of them has even started to share his joints with Andrew out back. Neil keeps a close eye on him, but he seems benign and Andrew seems… interested.

“Roland,” the guy says, shaking Neil’s hand. Andrew fidgets with his sleeves and grabs a handful of salted peanuts from the snack bowls on the counter that they were supposed to distribute to the tables.

Neil doesn’t introduce himself and Roland doesn’t ask. His gaze slips down Neil’s body like oil. He winks, and Neil pretends to be busy with a bag of chips.

“We should get to work,” Neil tells Andrew, feeling tense.

“In a second,” Andrew says.

He disappears with Roland, and Neil tries not to feel abandoned.

Andrew is quiet when they leave the club. They take the night bus because hotwiring a car only gets you so far, especially if you’re trying to be inconspicuous, and Andrew seems distant and lost in thought all the way home.

When they get in, Neil makes them some tea and Andrew pulls out a few packets of chocolate-covered pretzels and a flask of whisky that he stole from work.

“Did something happen with Roland?” Neil asks once they’ve settled into their usual spot on the back porch with their spoils and a packet of cigarettes. Andrew plays with his lighter, flicking it on and off, and takes a long sip of whisky.

“He kissed me,” isn’t exactly what Neil expected to hear, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense.

“Did you want him to?” Neil asks.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“How was it?”

Andrew drags his thumb over his mouth, over and over again.

“Fine,” he says and shrugs.

“How old is he?” Neil asks.

“Twenty-one,” Andrew says and reaches for the pretzels. “I checked his file.”

“Hm,” Neil says. “Just be careful.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. The stinging sensation in Neil’s stomach is back, as if he’s had too much sour candy. A boyfriend would be one more thing tying Andrew to this place, and sooner or later Neil is going to have to move on, for Andrew’s safety as much as his own.

Not tonight though, he tells himself. Tonight it’s just the two of them, drinking and smoking, eating chocolate pretzels and watching the stars.

~

Andrew may or may not be drunk.

He knows his limits a little better by now and he feels clear-headed enough where he's leaning against the wall of the night club, one hand around a bottle and the other tracing the outline of a knife in his pocket, but the moment he moves everything tilts out of alignment like a lagging video.

Neil is dancing, part of the crowd but close enough that Andrew can't lose sight of him. A sharp, hard bass rattles his bones, and he watches Neil's movements in the gristly strobe lights that flash through the heavy meat of the darkness, leaving aftershocks simmering behind his eyelids. He pops his thumb from the mouth of the bottle and drinks down the meagre rest before discarding it. When he looks back up, Neil's eyes are on him and Andrew shivers and slumps back against the wall. Sometimes the two of them are interlocked like a pair cogs, constantly setting each other in motion with every little thing they do. Probably a side-effect of living in such close proximity for so long.

Neil rolls his hips into the next beat and flicks his head, shaking too-long hair out of his eyes. Sweat shines on the side of his neck. Andrew is definitely staring, but in his defence moving his head makes him dizzy and it's so much easier to just keep looking at Neil.

They've done this a few times now and Andrew both dreads and anticipates these nights, where Neil dances and Andrew drinks and they both look out for each other, cradled in the safe nowhere land of late-night-early-morning, putting the outside world on hold for a few hours while they each fall apart and put themselves back together in their own ways. Andrew doesn't dance and Neil doesn't drink, and at the end of the night they go home with each other, and Andrew smokes until he’s sober while Neil falls asleep in the grey dawn.

Andrew presses a finger to his lips where they still tingle from making out with Roland in the back room earlier. They’re just messing around, but Andrew thinks he likes it. He’s told Roland not to touch him and so far Roland has stuck to that rule, grinning and thinking it all a game when Andrew grabs his wrists and holds them to the wall.

Neil comes to get him and it takes Andrew three tries to kick off from the wall. It’s too late – early – for the night bus, so Neil asks one of the bartenders to call them a taxi, but they still have to walk from where Neil tells the taxi driver to drop them off.

Andrew looks out of the window, at the red and blue lights winking through the sheen of rain, and thinks about dancing with Neil one day.

“We’re here,” Neil’s voice rouses him softly. He hands the driver some bills and they climb out, Andrew a lot less steady on his feet still. Neil lets him lean on him again and they set off through a quiet residential area where all the good people are long since asleep.

“Neil,” Andrew says, stopping at the corner of the street.

“Yeah?” Neil asks tiredly.

“Have you ever,” Andrew asks, loosely waving his hand around.

“What?”

“Sex,” Andrew says, a little very loudly. A dog barks somewhere nearby, as if offended by the concept.

“Oh,” Neil says. “No. You?”

“Haha,” Andrew makes. “Funny.”

It’s really not funny. Neil is quiet for a long moment, then says: “It doesn’t count, you know. What he did to you.”

Andrew scoffs, because that’s stupid. Neil’s stupid. Stupid all over, from his floppy hair to his slender, crooked toes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Roland offered,” he tells Neil. Then clarifies: “To blow me.”

Neil makes a wheezy little noise, like he’s coughing or laughing or uncomfortable or all three.

“Did you want my advice on that?” he says dryly.

“No,” Andrew says. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then the answer’s probably no,” Neil tells him. Maybe he’s not so stupid after all. Andrew pats his shoulder, then keeps patting down his side until he finds his pocket and the cigarettes inside.

“You didn’t light it,” Neil points out when Andrew puts one in his mouth.

“Course I did,” Andrew mutters. “Stupid.”

“You’re very odd when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“Isn’t everyone,” Andrew says.

“Maybe,” Neil says quietly. “Most people just get loud.”

“Mm,” Andrew hums. He looks at his cigarette and holds it out to Neil. “It’s gone out.”

“Right,” Neil laughs and slips it between two fingers, then puts it between his lips. He takes out his lighter and touches the flame to the end of the cigarette until it catches, sucking in smoke.

He’s hot, Andrew thinks. Hot in all the ways.

“Tomorrow,” he says when Neil hands his cigarette back. “Tomorrow we are going to see Aaron.”


	3. Maybe you'd feel the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron makes an appearance at last.

“Just Aaron,” Andrew says when they leave for the bus in the morning, still looking blueish pale and hungover.

“Just Aaron,” Neil promises.

He’s scoped out the house, and though it doesn’t look like Aaron’s mother works regular shifts, she still stays out for hours at a time some days. They watch her leave – a small woman with bleached hair and shabby clothes, heavy bracelets ringing both of her arms and oversized clip-on hoops dangling from her ears. Crow’s feet, a fake Vuitton purse. Neil doesn’t have high hopes for her, but Andrew doesn’t seem very interested anyway.

The car disappears around the bend. They wait a little longer, just in case she’s forgotten something and comes back, but everything stays quiet. Neil realises that Andrew is frozen beside him and taps his foot to get his attention.

“Hey, let’s go.”

The house has a distinct air of neglect. Someone’s watered the plants out front even though half of them look beyond salvaging, one of the window panes has been temporarily patched up with wood, the paint is peeling and there’s an overflowing ashtray on the steps that lead up to the front door. Neil checks the name again and has to ring the bell three times until there’s a bang and some swearing coming from an open window upstairs.

“Sounds like he’s home,” Neil grins at Andrew and rings the bell again for good measure.

Someone thunders down the stairs. They have barely enough time to step back before the door is thrown open and a boy who looks like Andrew but not sticks his head out, brandishing a textbook.

“I swear to god-” He catches sight of Andrew and falters. For a moment both twins stare vacantly at each other and Neil can see the resemblance despite the fact that Aaron is gaunt and skinny, wears a light blue sweat jacket and has his hair almost completely shaved.

“You must be Aaron,” Neil breaks the tense silence.

“Shit,” Aaron mutters. “No shit.”

He glances around, then steps back and waves them inside. He wears long sleeves even though the house is sweltering. Somewhere a ceiling fan labours futilely, and about a week’s worth of dirty dishes and takeaway containers are piled up in the kitchen.

“You couldn’t have called?” Aaron asks, leading them into a living room that looks only marginally less cluttered. Red splotches appear on his face and he hastily kicks some stuff off an old, scuffed sofa and drops into a lumpy beanbag chair on the floor. “What the fuck happened, anyway? First the whole business with that shady officer, then I send you a letter and you never reply, then this woman calls us and tells us your foster brother’s died and you’ve run off with your- with this kid from school. And now you just show up out of the blue with no warning? Is this him?”

He’s drumming his fingers on his knee, staring at Andrew like he’s a hallucination. Neil and Andrew sit on the sofa, but it doesn’t look like Andrew’s figured out how to make his mouth work yet, so Neil says, “We had to take a detour.”

“A detour?” Aaron says incredulously. “For a year and then some? Detour where?”

“Arizona,” is the first thing Andrew manages to say out loud. Neil wishes they’d agreed on a story beforehand – they could have easily come up with a believable lie. Now this complete stranger has a piece of the puzzle that is Neil’s journey so far, and it makes his skin crawl.

“The fuck were you doing in Arizona?”

“Visiting family,” Neil lies quickly. “My aunt was in the hospital.”

“Right,” Aaron says, squinting. “So you’re this Neil guy?”

Another half-truth wrestled from him, another piece of the puzzle. Neil digs his fingers into his thighs and swallows hard. He’s stuck with the name now because a tiny sliver of his past has followed them all the way here, but it’s going to be hell to explain why his papers are under a different name if Aaron starts digging.

Aaron glances between them, still drumming his fingers. He seems to come to a decision and nods to himself.

“You want anything to drink? I can make rum and coke. Pretty sure we got some beers left in the fridge from mom’s last boyfriend. She’s out, by the way, you just missed her. Probably better this way.”

“Just coke,” Neil says. Aaron gets up and goes into the kitchen to rummage around for clean glasses and Neil casts a worried look at Andrew, whose face is blank.

“Okay?” he whispers. He knows Andrew doesn’t like to be touched when he zones out, but the urge to take his hand right now makes Neil twitch in frustration.

“Can we go,” Andrew blurts out, fingers curling into fists as if he can read Neil’s mind. He breathes out in a rush, shaky and pale.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks and glances back to where Aaron tries valiantly to fill three glasses with two glasses’ worth of coke. “Don’t you want to talk to him a bit more, now that we’re here?”

“No,” Andrew says. It comes out small and squashed, like a chocolate bar forgotten at the bottom of a bag.

“Well, alright,” Neil says. They get up just as Aaron’s coming back with the drinks. The ice cubes are clattering audibly against the glass, giving away how hard his hands are shaking.

“We have to go,” Neil says bluntly. “Sorry.”

“What- already?” Aaron gapes.

“Yeah, we… it’s late, you know, and we still need to find a hotel.”

Aaron’s shoulders slump.

“How long are you staying? My uncle – uh, our uncle – lives down the street. Nicky’s not here right now, so you could probably have his bedroom or something. Uncle Luther’s the one who pushed for mom to… well. She didn’t want to, but I guess she’ll just have to accept it now that you’re here.”

“It’s fine,” Neil says quickly, “we don’t mind staying at a hotel. We’ll be in touch.”

He herds Andrew to the front door and they spill out into a threadbare patch of sunlight. Aaron follows them for a few more steps, still carrying the drinks, and watches them walk down the driveway.

“Andrew!” he calls. The name seems to work some kind of magic on Andrew, because he stops and then turns, very slowly. “Do you still have my number?”

Andrew nods, and Aaron nods back.

“Call me next time,” he warns them. “Or mom will flip.”

“Okay,” Neil says when it’s clear Andrew’s not going to answer. “See you.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “Good luck with the hotel.”

~

Andrew looks at himself in the mirror he stole from the drug store while Neil was getting hair dye for them. Neil doesn’t care how he looks as long as his roots don’t show and his eye colour stays firmly hidden, but Andrew needs the mirror for shaving every once in a while and to fuss with his skin when Neil isn’t around.

He has a new break-out of spots on his forehead. His hair really needs a trim, there are bags under his eyes, his lips are chapped and sore, and his eyebrows are a bit all over the place. If he ever wanted to pass as his twin, he’d have to lose a lot of weight. He doesn’t get double-takes and hungry stares at Eden’s the way Neil does nowadays, all lean and trim in his black work shirt, thighs straining against the dark denim of his pants, the ones Andrew bought him because he couldn’t stand the sight of his ratty old jeans anymore.

It’s not like Andrew wants to be looked at like a piece of meat, but… But.

He puts the mirror face-down on the edge of the bathtub and washes his face with some Clearasil, though so far it hasn’t done jack shit for him. He leaves the bathroom and finds Neil in the kitchen, poring over a newspaper and eating burnt toast. The gas cooker is tricky, but Andrew has almost perfected his technique, so he toasts a few more slices for them and sits down.

“Hand me the crossword,” he says, buttering a slice. It’s a cloudy day and the soft splashes of rain dripping down the boards on the back door fill the kitchen like echoes. Neil’s burnt toast lies forgotten on its plate, and Andrew follows the trail of crumbs to where he has both hands buried in his hair, knuckles stark white.

“Neil?”

There’s a small wheezing sound, like Neil’s trying to breathe but can’t. Andrew abandons his plate and gets up, moving to his side.

“Neil, breathe.”

He grips the back of Neil’s neck out of instinct and Neil sucks in a loud, hitching breath.

“And out,” Andrew tells him, feeling lost. The last time Neil had a panic attack was several months ago. Andrew isn’t sure what triggered it this time and he looks around for a clue, eyes landing on the newspaper. One page is rucked up under Neil’s elbow, the other has a tear along the corner like he gripped it too hard. There’s an article on new traffic regulations in Maryland, something about a boating accident, and the bottom half of the page is taken up by a picture of a man who looks like an older version of Neil.

_…according to official sources, Wesninski was arrested in his Baltimore home Saturday night. He is currently being detained at Chesapeake Detention Facility, awaiting trial. His lawyers have issued a statement…_

“Neil,” Andrew says again.

Neil breathes out and it sounds like a moan. He’s still staring at the picture, wild-eyed and tense from his neck to his legs. The muscles under Andrew’s hand feel hard enough to bruise.

Andrew grabs the newspaper and yanks it out from under Neil’s elbow, tearing it in the process. He crumples it up, holds it to the flame of the gas cooker until it catches fire and drops it in the sink, watching it smoulder and turn to ash.

Then he sits back down in his chair and eats the rest of his toast.

“I,” Neil says thinly. “Sorry.”

At least he’s breathing again. Sort of, anyway.

“Who is he?” Andrew asks, picking up crumbs with the pad of his thumb. The kitchen still smells like burnt paper and toast.

“I,” Neil says again and swallows. “I can’t tell you.”

Andrew leans back, disappointment tasting stale in his mouth.

“Why,” he asks. He’s asked it before. Neil rakes his hands through his thick hair again and makes a frustrated noise, then jumps up so suddenly that his chair topples over and starts pacing.

“It’s not safe,” he says. “You’re not safe with me. I never should have taken you with me. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

“Shut up,” Andrew says calmly. “We’ve been over this. It was my decision. I don’t care.”

“You should,” Neil frets, still pulling at his hair. It must hurt, and Andrew has the impulse to tug his hands away and smooth over the rumpled curls. “You don’t know what he’s capable of…”

“By he you mean the guy from the newspaper, who looks a whole damn lot like you, yes?” Andrew elaborates, leaning his chair back until it’s balancing on two legs. “Is that your real name? Wesninski?”

It’s a shot in the dark, but Neil freezes in his tracks. He shakes his head mutely, but they both know that Andrew just hit the nail on the head.

“Tell me,” Andrew says.

Neil crumples. He sits down heavily on the floor and stares at his hands that twitch in his lap like they’re searching for a cigarette. Andrew fills two mugs with what’s left of the coffee, taps a cigarette out from his pack, lights it and sits down opposite Neil.

“Tell me,” he says again, handing over the cigarette and one of the mugs. Neil clutches them like a lifeline. Their knees touch, bracketing the space between them, and Andrew watches Neil’s fingers shake around the cigarette.

Slowly, reluctantly, Neil begins to tell his story.

~

After spilling his guts to Andrew on the dim kitchen floor, Neil stands under the cold shower for a long time, shaking and scrubbing at his scarred skin until it’s red and raw. It’s late afternoon, the rain has faded to a soft hush, and Neil doesn’t feel up to going for a run, so he just curls up on his sleeping mat with both blankets wrapped around him and takes a nap.

Andrew wakes him with dinner some time later. He’s made instant mac and cheese and Neil’s stomach clenches, because that’s what his mom used to make when he was sick as a child. He still had to go to school – preferred it, even, to the big empty house and the threat of his father always looming in every corner. But when he got home, there’d be a bowl of bright orange mac and cheese waiting for him as a reward.

They sit in their nest, eating in silence. Neil’s throat feels sore from talking so much earlier. His arm is pressed against Andrew’s and it’s tempting to just lean on him, let his broad shoulders hold up Neil’s weight for a bit. He didn’t even bat an eyelid at Neil’s gruesome story earlier. Maybe Neil should have told him sooner.

“I’m going back to see Aaron tomorrow,” Andrew says once he’s licked his spoon clean.

“Okay,” Neil croaks. “Want me to come with?”

“No.”

Neil leans his head against the wall, but it’s hard and uncomfortable. He sighs and shifts, ends up pressed even tighter to Andrew’s side. Andrew is warm, and he smells like Clearasil and the laundry detergent from the laundromat where they wash their clothes, but also like Andrew. Neil can’t really place the scent. It smells like coming home after a long journey, and he wants to bury his face in it and inhale deep lungfuls of it.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking about this with Andrew right there. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about this at all.

He pushes it away and gets up to do their dishes.

At work, Neil feels overwhelmed and slow, constantly lagging behind the towering amounts of dirty glasses to wash, trash to pick up and tables to wipe down. Grinding couples bump into him on the dancefloor and a drunk guy spills his beer on him, then bends over and throws up at his feet. By the time Neil is done cleaning it up, he reeks of beer, sweat and vomit and is just about done with his night.

“I’m taking a break,” he tells Josh behind the bar, shouting over the music. “Be right back.”

Josh waves him off, busy mixing drinks, and Neil escapes outside for some fresh air.

The alley out back of the club is blissfully empty. Puddles of spilled alcohol, soda cans and cigarette butts litter the ground and the bins emanate a strong smell of fermenting garbage, but Neil just needs some peace and quiet for a moment. He pats himself down. His cigarette pack comes up empty and he doesn’t have a lighter on him, so he goes back inside to ask Andrew for his, but Andrew isn’t in the kitchen where Neil last saw him.

“Have you seen Andrew?” he asks Sally, who is emptying the pathetic dishwasher by herself.

“Erm,” Sally says, glancing up at him. “Pretty sure he’s in the back. You know…”

She makes a vague hand gesture and Neil nods even though he doesn’t really know. He assumes Andrew is fetching more alcohol – he’s better at hauling crates than Neil – and goes to find him. Maybe he’ll want to share a cigarette with Neil, or keep him company for a moment while Neil tells him all about his mishap earlier. His poor shoes are never going to be the same.

There’s a light on in the storage room and Neil walks in without thinking. His feet stutter to a halt when he sees them – Andrew and Roland, pressed against the wall, in the middle of what looks to be a heated make-out session. Andrew has one hand around Roland’s wrist, the other in his pants. He stares at Neil for a long moment before removing both and taking a step back.

Roland laughs nervously.

“Oops,” he says, “you got us. Guess the gig’s up.”

Neil doesn’t know what to say, so he turns to Andrew and asks: “Can I borrow your lighter?”

Andrew fumbles with his pocket and wordlessly throws the lighter at him. Neil catches it and hurries away without so much as a thanks.

He has to ask Sally for a cigarette, and it takes him several tries to light it once he’s back outside in the alley. His legs feel unsteady, so he sits down on the stoop and hugs his knees to his chest. He stares at the glowing cherry of the cigarette, a single pinprick of light in the otherwise smooth, unmarred fabric of the darkness, and tries to calm his racing heart.

It’s true what he told Andrew – he’s never had sex, never felt like he wanted to try. Kissing was as much a way of rebelling against his mother’s iron grip as a short-lived, curious exploration of something everyone else seemed crazy about, everyone except for Neil. That even Andrew – after everything – seems to want it… It makes Neil feel more broken than he thought.

It’s a stupid, ugly thing to think. Andrew deserves everything he wants, all of it, whatever it is. A normal life. It isn’t something Neil can have anyway, no matter how fucked up he is, so it’s better not to want it. Wanting only leads to mistakes, and mistakes lead straight to his father.

He takes a deep breath, rubs his sleeve over his eyes and stubs the cigarette out under his heel. Time to get back to work.

~

“Listen,” Aaron says, his voice hushed even though no one else is home. “Do me a favour and don’t mention… you know… to mom or Uncle Luther.”

He looks deeply uncomfortable, fiddling with the tab on his diet coke. The house is somewhat less filthy than last time, like someone’s made an effort to tidy up last minute, but the dirty dishes are still stewing in soapy water and the countertops are sticky and ringed with coffee stains.

“Mention what,” Andrew says.

“You know,” Aaron repeats. “That you’re…”

“Just spit it out,” Andrew mutters, perching on the kitchen table and lighting a cigarette. Judging by the smell of stale smoke in the house, no one will notice.

Aaron stares at him and takes a gulp of his soda.

“When Nicky told my uncle, they sent him away,” he says, shoving the words through the gaps in his teeth. They sound like they’ve been growing like fungi in the back of his mouth for a long time. “He said… he said they were going to fix him. But they didn’t.”

“Where is Nicky, anyway?” Andrew asks, irritated with Aaron’s cryptic words. “At school or what?”

Aaron shakes his head.

“He’s a couple years older. He moved away after… He got this like, scholarship or something. In Germany.”

There’s a bitter twist to his lips as he says it. He’s been abandoned, Andrew realises.

“Well, fuck him,” Andrew says, and Aaron snorts.

“It’s weird. That you’re like him. He has one too, in Germany.”

When Andrew only stares, Aaron coughs and adds, “Like you and Neil, I mean.”

It begins to dawn on him, what Aaron must be thinking. Thanks to Drake, Cass and Richard thought that Neil and Andrew were somehow involved. If Cass called Aaron’s mother to tell them that Andrew ran away, she might have let something slip even though Andrew had always denied it.

“You think Neil’s my boyfriend,” he concludes, deadpan. Aaron flinches; pulls a grimace. Ugly red spots appear on his face and he scrubs at them with the back of his hand.

“Whatever. Just don’t talk about this stuff when mom’s around,” he mutters darkly, glaring at the floor.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Andrew points out. He’s about to clarify that Neil is not his boyfriend anyway when there’s the scrape of a key in the front lock. Aaron stiffens noticeably, but the door swings open before he can say anything.

A woman curses loudly as she trips over a pair of shoes. Aaron stays by the sink, frozen, the only movement coming from his fingers as they pick at the frayed cuffs of his sleeves. Andrew jumps down from the table and wanders out into the corridor to say hello to the piece of shit who birthed him not quite eighteen years ago.

“Aaron, I thought I fucking told you to mow the fucking lawn,” Tilda Minyard huffs, rummaging around in her purse. “If you think I’m doing everything around here while you lie around and play video games-”

She shuts up when she sees Andrew, mouth gaping comically wide. Her eyes stutter about in confusion and finally settle back on Andrew, who leans against the doorway with his hands in his pockets and doesn’t feel anything at all.

“Hello, mother,” he says sarcastically. “Aren’t you happy to see me again? It’s been so long. Let me think… about eighteen years now, give or take?”

She splutters. Her skin turns the same splotchy red as Aaron’s.

“Andrew,” she simpers, fiddling with the clasp on her purse. “How… how you’ve grown…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew says, waving her away. “I gotta go.”

“Already?” Aaron says dully behind him, just like last time. “How long are you staying for, anyway? Don’t you have school?”

“I’m transferring,” Andrew says.

“What- here?”

“No, to Timbuktu,” Andrew scoffs. “Of course here.”

“But,” Tilda interrupts, a note of panic to her voice. “Where will you be staying? Surely not here?”

“With Neil,” Andrew says, then corrects that to: “He has relatives in town.”

Tilda looks relieved, Aaron disappointed. Andrew makes a point of shoving past Tilda to get to the door.

“See you,” Aaron calls after him sullenly. Andrew tips him a quick salute and leaves.

~

“I’m going back to school,” Andrew announces over dinner. It’s the first of October and Halloween decorations have popped up all across town over night, but their house is as drab and draughty as ever. Neil shivers at a gust of wind that sneaks in through the boards and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“I thought you didn’t want to,” he says carefully, blowing on a spoonful of soup. To say that they’ve argued about this in the past would be an understatement. The last time Neil tried to get Andrew to enrol at high school again for his senior year, it ended with an argument so nasty that Andrew packed his bags and walked out on him.

It took him five days to come back. Five endless and utterly miserable days that Neil didn’t want to repeat, so he shut up about the topic after Andrew came back.

“I changed my mind,” Andrew says now. “I already got some books at the library. I’m going to Aaron’s high school so I’ll just sign up for the same classes.”

He shovels noodles into his mouth with newfound fervour and Neil drums his fingers against the table.

“Well, that’s good,” he finally says. “We’ll need to get your story straight for why you’re transferring now, and you’re going to have some catching up to do…”

“Should be easy,” Andrew shrugs.

“There’s another thing,” Neil says, twirling some noodles around in his soup. “It’s supposed to be a cold winter this year and it’s already getting kind of chilly. Which means it’s going to get very uncomfortable here very fast.”

They didn’t have this problem in Millport, where the winter was balmy enough that a few extra blankets and thermal underwear for the nights did the trick. South Carolina doesn’t usually get this cold, so they didn’t plan for it, but it’s been an unseasonably damp, chilly September and Neil’s already shivering under his single blanket at night.

“What do you have in mind?” Andrew asks.

“Well,” Neil says slowly, “you could go and live with your family, for one.”

“No,” Andrew says at once. Neil didn’t really think that would work, but the only other idea he has is riskier than he’d like.

“We’ll check Craigslist at the library then,” he mutters unhappily. “Maybe something will turn up. We can pretend we’re college students again.”

“Fine,” Andrew says.

“Do you want me to cut your hair for you today?” Neil offers.

Andrew tips his bowl against his mouth and slurps the last dregs of his soup. He wipes the back of his hand over his lips, tugs on a stray curl of hair and gets up to put his bowl in the sink.

“Andrew?”

He turns on the water and sticks his hands under the ice-cold spray for so long that Neil starts to worry he’ll get frostbite. Then he turns it off again and says, “Cass used to do that.”

“My mom, too,” Neil admits, swallowing around the bitter taste in his mouth. He really isn’t hungry anymore now.

Andrew looks at him and turns, leaning against the counter. He’s wearing a navy hoodie that he originally bought for Neil but which keeps winding up in Andrew’s laundry. It doesn’t fit him exactly right, but the colour still looks good on him.

“Alright,” Andrew says at last.

Neil gets a towel and the pair of scissors from his toiletry bag that he uses to trim his own hair when it starts to get in his face too much. He wets a comb at the sink and runs it slowly through Andrew’s hair, working through the snarls.

“Okay?”

“Hmm,” Andrew hums vaguely. He has his eyes closed. There’s a slight furrow between his brows and he sits deathly still, but he doesn’t seem tense. Neil takes it as a good sign and continues to comb his hair until it’s smooth and damp before starting to snip away at the strands. The chirp of the scissors, the low hiss of the gas lamp and the occasional shuffle of Neil’s feet are the only sounds in the silence. Neil gets absorbed in his task, combing and cutting and parting silky strands of hair. It’s a lot easier than doing it for himself and he enjoys the repetitive motions of it, the feel of Andrew’s hair between his fingers. Little clouds of blond hair drift to the ground like dandelion fluff. When he gets to Andrew’s neck, goosebumps break out along Andrew’s skin and he shivers under the pads of Neil’s careful fingers.

“Are you cold?” Neil checks, pausing to adjust the towel. Andrew grunts and reaches a hand up to rub vigorously at the back of his neck. When he takes it away, the skin is flushed pink.

“I’m almost done,” Neil tells him. “We can make hot chocolate after.”

He tries to make his touch firmer and quicker so it doesn’t tickle so much anymore. When he’s finished, he takes the towel and shakes it out over the sink.

“Bathroom,” Andrew mutters and practically bolts upstairs. Neil winces – he probably got some stray hairs down his shirt or something.

He gets two of the little boxes of chocolate milk to warm up so it’ll be done when Andrew comes back. They’ve been using them to make hot cocoa since milk spoils too easily without a fridge and Andrew refuses to make it with water instead.

Neil stirs the milk and makes a mental note to invest in a generator and a mini fridge if they end up staying here much longer.


	4. I see your face in every star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthdays and new beginnings.

Going back to school is a breeze.

Andrew’s above-average memory is a curse at best, but occasionally it proves useful as well, and Andrew catches up in no time. Homework is still a drag – he can never focus on boring things for very long – and he still struggles with math, because numbers just don’t make sense to him the way words do. They slip and slide and twist and turn, becoming something else when Andrew isn’t looking, changing signs and hiding behind letters that aren’t actually letters. Numbers lie to Andrew, and Andrew hates liars.

As school years go though, this one really is a breeze.

He sticks close to Aaron, who keeps to himself and doesn’t seem to have any friends. They eat lunch together in the cafeteria, sit together in class, choose each other for partner projects without even speaking about it. People seem to steer clear of them as long as they come in a set of two, and it doesn’t take long until it’s Aaron who’s following Andrew around like a lost puppy. A lost puppy he can’t adopt, because as desperate as Aaron is to hang out with Andrew after school, Andrew can’t just take him back to the house, and he still needs to get some sleep in before his night shifts at Eden’s.

After a few weeks, Aaron starts getting more desperate. He has a new suggestion every day: going to the library to study, signing up for the hockey team, the school magazine, an extracurricular art class.

“You can’t draw for shit,” Andrew points out, still scarred by Aaron’s artistic rendition of the different stages of mitosis in bio.

“Fuck off,” Aaron huffs, stabbing his fork at his peas so hard that several of them jump into Andrew’s mashed potatoes.

Like Andrew, he always wears long sleeves even on hot days. It doesn’t take an imagination the calibre of Andrew’s mind to conjure up the various reasons why. Today’s a sunny day, cloudless sky and no breeze in sight, a perfectly honey-golden October afternoon. The cafeteria is stifling. Andrew and Aaron are sweating silently in their hoodies, Andrew’s black and Aaron’s light blue.

Andrew wonders how much they have in common without knowing it.

“So,” Aaron asks when the silence gets too oppressive for him, still stabbing at his peas. He leans further across the table and lowers his voice. “Are you and Neil gonna do anything for your birthday?”

“No,” Andrew says. He thinks back to last year – Neil picked Andrew up from school and took him to Dairy Queen without mentioning the word birthday even once. It was quiet and strangely nice, and Andrew had to fight against some stupid part of his brain that insisted it was a date.

It is, arguably, the best birthday Andrew can remember, but Andrew knows better than to hope for a repeat. Nice things only ever happen once in his life, and they usually come with a price. In a way, he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop on that one.

“You wanna, I don’t know, meet up?” Aaron suggests, trying to go for casual and failing. Andrew really hopes he’s a better actor than his brother, because that display was just sad.

“I don’t know,” he says, echoing Aaron’s words.

“Okay,” Aaron says quickly, and shovels the rest of his food in his mouth.

They have a free period after lunch, so they go to the library to use the computers. Aaron does some research for their bio project while Andrew dicks around on the internet and tries to resist the urge to look up the Butcher of Baltimore. Neil said he told him everything there was to tell, and Andrew wants to honour that despite the itch of curiosity in the back of his mind.

He looks up from a Wikipedia article on electric eels and thinks for a moment that he’s hallucinated Neil into being, because there he is, picking his way through the tables and walking straight towards him. He must be real, though, because Aaron sees him too and frowns.

“Hey,” Neil whispers, sliding into the seat next to Andrew with a little grin. “You forgot your homework, so I thought I’d drop by. Number three, five, six and ten are wrong, by the way.”

There’s a feeling in Andrew’s stomach like snow shivering off a tree. He takes the papers Neil hands him and tries to figure out what he did wrong, but the numbers shimmy all over the page like they’re on roller skates.

“Here,” Neil murmurs, “you forgot that minus there. And that’s supposed to be a logarithm…”

Neil guides him through the equations step by step, and by the end Andrew thinks he at least understands where his mistakes were this time. The bell rings to signal the end of the period just as they’re done. Somehow they’ve ended up huddled together close enough that Andrew can smell Neil’s apple shampoo. Aaron looks like he has a personal storm cloud over his head but studiously doesn’t meet Andrew’s eyes, and Neil walks them to their next class before sneaking out again.

“Who was _that_?” a girl with long blond hair sighs, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He was _so_ cute.”

“Mind your own business,” Aaron snaps at her, earning himself a filthy glare from both her and her friend.

~

Neil doesn’t know what to do for Andrew’s birthday.

He looks at the calendar that they got for free at a Chinese restaurant and tacked to the wall of their makeshift bedroom. Painted dragons writhe around the page, curling around stalks of bamboo and frolicking with clouds. Today is Halloween. Neil never got to dress up or go trick or treating as a kid and no one ever came to their house either, so he doesn’t really have any fond memories of it. There’s a scar on his abdomen that he got for joking about ghosts haunting the basement where his father tortured and killed, that’s the only thing he associates with it these days.

It’s raining again when he goes out and pulls the hood of his jacket up. The sky is marbled with grey; the streets are gleaming like knives in the dim light. Andrew’s still at school and Neil finds himself drifting aimlessly, watching people go about their daily business and hurry from store to store to avoid the rain. He shoplifts some Halloween candy, peers inside windows at home decorations, clothes and tacky stationery.

He doesn’t think Andrew would want any of them.

There’s always books, but Neil stands in front of a shelf for ages, feeling lost. Andrew is too picky about his reading material, and Neil doesn’t read enough to make an educated guess about what he might like.

Frustrated, he takes the bus to Andrew’s school and waits for him outside the gates, smoking a listless cigarette in the drizzle until it goes out by itself. He flicks it away with a sigh and chews on his thumbnail instead.

Back in Millport, Neil was busy sorting out paperwork and getting in touch with his mother’s old contacts, organising the next steps of their journey. It was easy to work toward a goal. Now, with Andrew back in school and nothing to do except brush up his Spanish with the help of some library books, Neil can’t help feeling a bit lonely; a bit lost.

Andrew comes out with Aaron in tow and lights a cigarette the minute he steps past the gates. Neil offers him one of the bags of candy and he fishes out a peanut butter cup before passing it on to Aaron, who eyes it suspiciously before taking two mini bags of jelly beans.

“How was school?” Neil asks as the three of them walk to the bus stop.

“Boring,” Andrew says, blowing smoke through his teeth.

“Ms Robinson gave out candy if we got more than three answers on her quiz right,” Aaron says. “Barely anyone did, though.”

“It was easy,” Andrew scoffs.

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Aaron says darkly. “I can’t memorise all this shit, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Whatever,” Andrew sighs. “She gave you candy anyway because you sucked up to her.”

“Whatever,” Aaron echoes defensively and hunches into his scuffed jacket. There’s a large stain down the front and the cuffs of the sleeves look like he’s been chewing on them.

They reach the bus stop and the twins do some kind of complicated hand-shake-fist-bump routine in parting. Aaron even nods to Neil before he gets on the bus, which from him is a big show of friendliness despite the fact that he still doesn’t seem to like Neil very much.

“Did you see that? He acknowledged my existence! You think I’m growing on him?” Neil jokes.

“No one grows on him,” Andrew says idly. “He likes girls with big tits and dogs and his bio teacher, that’s it.”

“He must like you if he’s always following you around,” Neil points out. Andrew doesn’t reply, and they wait in silence for the next bus to take them in the direction of home.

The first days of November are cold, even more so inside the house. Neil tries to fix some of the broken windows, but there’s no getting around the fact that the water is freezing and they can’t heat enough of it over their gas cooker to make showering bearable. Neil spends a few hours in the library, scrolling through Craigslist, until he finds an ad for a room to rent that sounds casual and friendly enough to not ring any warning bells. He sends the guy a quick message, pretending to be a freshman looking to move out of home, and gets a reply within minutes inviting him over for Saturday.

Andrew disappears with Roland the night before his birthday and doesn’t come back for so long that Neil almost goes looking for him again. He forces himself to stay put and breaks a glass by accident with how hard he scrubs at it, cutting his hand in the process. He takes off the ruined glove and looks at the blood welling up, but it barely stings.

“Shit, are you okay?” Katrina says, coming through with another tray of glasses. “Here, I’ll get the first aid kit, you sit your ass down for a moment okay? I don’t want you fainting on the job.”

Neil doesn’t tell her that a little blood isn’t going to make him faint and picks the rest of the shards out of the dishwater with his intact hand. Katrina clicks her tongue in disapproval when she comes back and steers him over to a stool to patch him up.

“Where’s your boyfriend, hon? Things are winding down out there, we can fill the dishwasher and he can do the rest of the glasses while you and I start cleaning up.”

“Boyfriend?” Neil asks, confused.

“Yeah,” Katrina says, “Andrew? I thought you two were, you know. Official and all that.”

“No,” Neil says dully. He can barely hear himself over the rushing sound in his ears.

“Oh, sorry hon. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Katrina smiles apologetically and packs up the first aid kit. Neil runs his finger over the bandage on his hand and presses down until it hurts. Katrina stops in the doorway and turns around.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. It’s up to you guys if you wanna come out or not. But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Neil stares after her, the urge to laugh scratching at the back of his throat until it feels sore.

~

There’s a cake in the kitchen when Andrew gets up.

It’s a Snickers cake, oozing chocolate with peanuts and caramel, and a mound of cut-up Snickers pieces on top, just the right size for picking them off and eating. Neil’s already gone, something about a Craigslist ad, but there’s a note telling him to save a slice for Aaron.

Andrew snorts. The cake is so big that saving a single slice actually won’t be a problem, even for him. He grabs a plate and a knife and cuts off a large slab, then makes some coffee to go with it because he’s freezing his toes off just standing in the kitchen. He takes his mug and his plate and flees back upstairs, pulling all four of their blankets around himself in an effort to warm up while he sips his coffee and takes small bites of his cake.

It’s good. Really, really good.

Andrew closes his eyes and tries to remember the last time he had a birthday cake, but even his memory comes up blank.

Cass tried once, but she wasn’t much of a baker and the cake was burnt and inedible, so they fled the house and went to a fancy restaurant for dinner instead. Drake sat next to Andrew and kept squeezing his thigh under the table.

He shakes his head and picks up his phone, dialling Aaron’s number.

“Do you know what fucking time it is,” Aaron’s sleepy voice greets him.

“Twelve oh three,” Andrew informs him.

“Shit,” Aaron mutters, and there’s some rustling and a thump. “I thought it was, like, seven. It’s dark outside. Fuck.”

“What, did your mother not wake you up? No candles and singing?” Andrew asks sarcastically. “No birthday breakfast? Stacks of presents? Ten thousand well-wishers on Facebook clogging up your inbox?”

“Fuck off,” Aaron yawns. There’s silence for a moment, then the clank of a toilet lid and a gurgle as Aaron relieves himself.

“Gross,” Andrew tells him.

“Shut up. It’s your own fault for waking me up,” Aaron grumbles.

He flushes and washes his hands, but seems to stay in the bathroom. Andrew imagines him looking at himself in the mirror, pretending his twin’s right there.

“How about you?” Aaron asks after a moment.

“I just went, thanks,” Andrew says dryly.

“No, jeez,” Aaron sighs, “I meant like, birthday stuff.”

Andrew looks down at the chocolate smudges on his empty plate and licks his fork clean slowly and meticulously.

“Neil left some cake,” he says, dragging his fork over his plate so it makes an unpleasant screeching sound. Then he makes up his mind and adds, “You wanna come over?”

There’s a pause.

“You mean, to yours? Now?” Aaron checks.

“Yeah,” Andrew says.

“Alright. Okay.”

Andrew is dimly aware that Neil is going to be mad at him, but he tells Aaron where to get off the bus and hangs up. He eats another slice of cake, messes around with his hair for a bit, then walks to the bus stop in the icy wind and waits for Aaron to get there.

Aaron is not amused when he sees where Andrew leads him. He gapes as they pass the first boarded-up house and lags behind, staring at a defunct letterbox. Andrew doesn’t wait for him to catch up and slips around the back of their house, jiggling the loose boards until they come off.

“What is this place?” Aaron asks. “You planning on murdering me or something?”

Nevertheless, he climbs in after Andrew and walks around the kitchen while Andrew puts the boards back in place, touching their few appliances and swiping his finger through the sagging icing on the cake to lick it off.

“S’good,” he mumbles. “I thought you were staying with Neil’s uncle or something?”

“Didn’t work out,” Andrew says. “It’s only temporary.”

“Huh,” Aaron says. “Maybe I should join you. Get me away from mom. Jesus, but it’s freezing here, don’t you have a heater?”

“No electricity,” Andrew points out. He starts heating water for more coffee and Aaron shuffles closer, holding his hands up to the flame.

“It’s kinda cool,” he says. “And way bigger than our house. Can you imagine living here? Like, for real?”

Andrew thinks about it for the first time – thinks about picking his own home for once, about fixing up the house and the back garden, maybe planting some vegetables or a tree. Having a pet he doesn’t have to let go of again, filling a fridge with food he likes and eating it whenever he feels like it. Having a key to the front door. A bedroom to himself, with a door that locks. Coming home to Neil and sharing a cigarette on the back porch. No neighbours, no boards on the windows, no one to bother them.

“No,” he says and hands Aaron a slice of cake. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?”

“We’re twins, dumbass,” Aaron says. “If you’re not allergic, I’m not allergic, that’s how twins work.”

~

“Hey what’s up, you must be Noel,” says the Craigslist guy as he opens the door. He wears his hair in long, gelled spikes like he isn’t aware that he’s already offensively tall without the added inches. There’s a bag of Doritos in his hand and a jar of nacho dip in the other, and he beckons Neil inside with a smile so wide Neil almost thinks there’s something wrong with him. Then he smells the distinct aroma of pot and relaxes.

“Come in, dude, welcome to my crib,” he says. “I’m Matt, this drop-dead gorgeous lady over here is my girlfriend, the amazing Danielle, and the little guy over there is Sugar Ray Robinson, you know, after the boxer. But everyone just calls him Sugar. Man, you are pocket-sized, dude. Do you shop in the kids’ section?”

“Why, do you?” Neil says caustically, gesturing at Matt’s bright purple Disney Princess shirt. Matt only laughs.

Sugar, the tiny dog Matt indicated, waddles over to sniff Neil’s feet and Neil has a weird, irrational moment of fear, thinking he can smell his history on Neil’s shoes – the blood and the lies and all the grit he’s tracked across the globe while running. Sugar merely sneezes though and trots back to his dog bed, and the girl on the sofa gets up to shake Neil’s hand.

“Wow, I didn’t think anyone would reply to that ad,” she grins. “I gotta warn you, the spare room is tiny. Like, miniature.”

“Good luck he’s miniature, too, then,” Matt teases. “Noel, you want anything to drink?”

“No thanks,” Neil says. “Can I see the room?”

“Sure, sure, down here, don’t trip on the DVDs, I’ve been meaning to find somewhere to put them but you know how it is… So you’re a college student?”

“Mhm,” Neil says vaguely.

“And your parents are just, like, kicking you out? That sucks.”

“They don’t have much money,” Neil lies. “I have a job though, so I can pay the rent. Actually, I was wondering…”

Matt opens the door and Neil peers inside. The room really is small – there’s space for a bed and maybe one other piece of furniture, tops.

“Our friend Allison was crashing here for a while, she had some string lights and candles and stuff, really brightened up the place,” Matt says. “You could even put up posters or something.”

It’s cheap, it’s warm, and Matt seems gullible enough to take whatever Neil tells him at face value without looking too closely at the cracks. Maybe a little too friendly, but he’s also kind of their only option at the moment, and it can’t be worse than the time Neil and Andrew stayed with the guy who made his own cheese.

Now he just needs to come up with a story for why he won’t be the only one renting the room. He sends a little mental thank you note to Katrina for giving him the idea before giving it a shot.

“So,” he says slowly, looking at his feet and fiddling with his sleeves to appear like he’s nervous. “I wasn’t exactly telling the truth earlier.”

“Yeah?” Matt asks kindly. “What’s up?”

“My parents aren’t kicking me out because of money problems,” Neil admits. “They have a problem with me being… well.” He takes a deep breath and makes it extra shaky. “Gay.”

“Dude,” Matt says. “That’s awful, I’m so sorry. I don’t have a problem with that, if that’s what you’re worried about…”

“No, it’s not that,” Neil says, biting his lip. “It’s my boyfriend, actually. He’s kinda in the same situation. Long story short, his mom sucks, and, well, we both need a place to stay. Just until we sort it out, you know?”

“Yeah, shit, that’s real tough.”

“Would you mind?” Neil asks, glancing up at Matt through his lashes and infusing his voice with a pleading edge. “If we both crashed here? He’s still at school and we both work night shifts, so we’ll be out of your hair most of the time, and it’s only temporary…”

“Dude,” Matt says again. It seems to be his favourite word. “Of course, man. You can move in as soon as you’re ready, and Dan and I can help you look for something, even. She knows a lot of people. Are you sure you’re fine sharing this shoebox, though? Is your boyfriend a big dude?”

“No,” Neil grins. “He’s shorter than me.”

“No way! That’s so cute, you gotta tell me everything about him. Come on, Dan brought wine, we can make a toast to being roomies.”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” Neil hastens to tell him. Matt doesn’t seem to mind and gets him a grape soda instead, pouring wine into two glasses for Dan and him. Dan gets the only wine glass they own after Matt apparently broke the other one, and Matt takes the one printed with Snoopy motifs.

“To new beginnings,” he says, knocking his glass against Neil’s can of soda.

“To new friends,” Dan adds as they clink glasses. She turns to Neil and looks expectantly at him.

“To a new home?” Neil tries. The word feels fake and flimsy on his tongue, but Dan smiles and nods approvingly before touching her glass to his can as well.

“Bottoms up!”

“Cheers!”

Sugar barks excitedly from where he’s running around their feet, and Neil gulps down his ice-cold grape soda as quickly as he can and makes an excuse to leave.

It’s time to pack their bags and move on once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next parts are in the works! First though you can keep your eyes peeled for my Big Bang fic, which will be out on Tuesday September 4th! Whoo!


End file.
